Trapped In A Novel As The Breeding Mate For Four Powerful Alphas

When I got the message, I considered ignoring it.

"4th Floor Study Lounge. 4:30. French Tutoring. Don't be late." He sent a little pink heart along with it.

How tyrannical.

There was no name, but I didn't need one to know who the little tyrant that was trying to force me into French tutoring was.

Only one person in this cursed school thought it appropriate to send a pink heart after ruining someone's social anonymity.

I just wanted to rest, for Christ's sake.

But I guess I can't run away forever. I'd best have to cooperate.

I decided to go to the venue, not because I wanted to, and not because I was scared either.

I went because it was easier than avoiding him and creating more trouble for myself. If I skipped, he'd only escalate it based on his character. He'd probably show up at my next class in a beret, speaking in a French accent and demanding all sorts of things. And since the teachers can't control them, I was at his mercy.

Thinking about it, my lips slightly curled, a little amused, but I quickly shook off that amusement.

What would be left of me was humiliation, so there was nothing to smile about.

Ugh, I should probably wash my face and change my clothes at least.

I feel really shitty right now.

The study lounge was quiet when I entered.

It was the day after that big fiasco, and I didn't have French class that day, so I didn't run into him.

But maybe running into him would've been way better than what I had to deal with the whole day.

There were people walking up to me, sneering and asking all sorts of questions, but I stayed mute, as if I had been obliged to remain silent no matter what.

They were all such a nuisance.

I walked into the study lounge and saw the only occupied table, prepared for two—a stack of French textbooks neatly arranged, a pen beside a notebook I didn't recognize, but for some reason, the handwriting in it was unmistakably mine.

He'd taken my notes? When?

I looked up at him, only to meet his wide and satisfied eyes. He was acting like such a free-spirited kid when he could be holding so much manipulative information in that big head of his.

"Ah, you came," he said as he noticed me, putting down the cup of coffee he had been gracefully sipping, and looking all excited as if I'd shown up for a date.

"I remember I never agreed to this," I mumbled, but he didn't care.

"Mm, I know," he said, smiling. "But I knew you'd come regardless. You're too considerate to be rude."

I sat down stiffly, staring at that wide smile that wouldn't fade.

'Or maybe I just wanted you to shut up,' I thought, my eyes peering into his, and as if he had read my mind, he openly chuckled.

"There it is," he said. "You've got one sharp side, Jo-Pil Hyung. It's okay if I call you Hyung, right? I read your file, and you're older than me, so this should be fine."

It's not like you go ahead and call every guy who seems older than you 'Hyung,' but whatever. Do whatever you like.

I didn't respond to him and simply reached for the textbook.

"I hope you don't mind," he said, pouring tea into a second cup. "I brought chamomile. It helps with nerves."

"I'm not nervous," I stated plainly.

"Then drink it anyway. For hydration." he just kept smiling so radiantly, like all was well even when it was not.

I was being forced to have this session, and he knew it, but he didn't care anyway. He just cared about his own interests, and that was it.

I stared at the cup but ignored it. Maybe this would tell him that we didn't come here for a tea party in the first place.

"You'd better drink it before it gets cold," he said and didn't look anymore, deciding it was time to get serious.

He flipped open the book he had prepared and began reviewing verb conjugations. At first, it felt like a regular session. And while I thought this was a scheme he came up with to mess with me, he... he was weirdly good at teaching.

He was precise, clear, and patient, something I didn't expect, and it made me feel even more suspicious of his actions.

But slowly, I had begun to lose my cutting edge and was slowly relaxing under his tutelage. But then, the moment I started to relax, I realized he wasn't watching the book.

He was watching me.

Every time I answered correctly, his lips curved just a little too wide, and every time I hesitated, his gaze sharpened. It wasn't that he was annoyed, but like he enjoyed seeing me flustered.

He was such a weird one.

"You've got a good memory," he murmured as I finished a sentence translation. "Maybe you're not as invisible as you pretend to be."

"I'm not pretending," I muttered. Well, not entirely. I just wish to be invisible, so they're not the same thing.

"You are. Just a little." He leaned back. "It's okay. I like it. I think you're fascinating."

My grip on the pen tightened at those words. He was already starting to show his true colors, huh?

"This isn't tutoring anymore," I said.

"Sure it is," he said smoothly, his lips still curved. "You're learning things. I'm learning things. Isn't that what tutoring's about?"

"You're not supposed to be learning me, though," I said, and our eyes met, briefly.

He didn't flinch at the accusation. In fact, he leaned closer, as if wanting to take a look at the eyes he had just met after a while.

"I already told you," he said with a soft voice. "You're interesting. Everyone's pretending to be someone. But you're the only one pretending to be no one. You're pretending, but it's not the same, and that's far more compelling."